What am I offering?

Growing up in a rural evangelical church, I recall hearing a sermon at a very young age during which the preacher correlated the number of souls we lead to the Lord with the number of jewels in our heavenly crowns. The significance of this prize was not lost on me. Certainly I did not want to be judged by others with their crowns full of gems as having not pulled my spiritual weight. I decided that one convert each year would provide me an enviable heavenly crown. Around first grade, I converted my four-year old brother (a bit surprised no one else had thought of this easy target.) But by second grade my tally had not kept pace.

I carefully considered my next convert. I selected my classmate Travis B., probably because I didn’t think his family went to church. And, I had once heard him curse on the playground which, for me, served as a window into his lost soul. When I found him alone on the uneven bars at recess one day, I considered it a divine moment. I walked up to him and slipped him a tract I had received from my Sunday School teacher.

Needless to say, 8-year old Travis was confused. I looked at him with pity (the poor, lost soul) and said, “Just read it.” To give him some space, I headed for the slides. Upon returning to the bars, I discovered several other classmates climbing, swinging and dangling around Travis. I pulled him aside.

He seemed more confused–and a bit annoyed. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
I was nervous. “Did you have any questions about it?”
“No.” And that’s how we left it…with me not knowing if I had earned another jewel.

Now, many years later, I wonder what it is I was actually trying to sell to Travis B. In my approach, I wasn’t offering eternal salvation (though the tract was very clear about that.) I think I was trying to offer him a prayer…a few lines which read and said would sanctify him from the gates of Hell. I wasn’t offering faith. I was peddling religion.

At six years old, when I, myself, repeated those words at vacation Bible school, I didn’t really buy it. I didn’t feel differently; I wasn’t closer to God that afternoon than I was earlier that morning, while still a sinner. So, the next day, I answered the alter call again. The preacher took me aside following that session and asked me why I came back. He assured me that my salvation was secure. When you’re six years old, you believe you’ll live forever anyway, so I wasn’t sure what this whole prayer was about. Well, that was it–a newborn Christian. Now what?

Over the years, I’ve come to realize that faith is more than reciting a prayer. It is not a count for souls. It is a process, a journey on which we will never reach our destination. Too often, I think Christians focus on conversion, but not enough on growing the faith which follows. Now, as a mother of two grade schoolers, I desire to offer them faith, not a religious conversion. Though they are only 5 and 7 years old, I don’t want to water down their faith. I also don’t want them to confuse faith with religion.

While frequent “God” conversations at our house are contemplative and honest, I’m not concerned with knowing a specific date of their repentance (as though it is some task on the to-do list of faith which must be checked off.) I want them to have roots which run deep in asking questions about who God is and what that personally means for them. I want my kids to forever run after them–this triune God, to never settle for tidy, safe answers and to never become stagnant in their pursuit.